


Reassurance

by Anonymous033



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous033/pseuds/Anonymous033
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara comes close to death for the first time since joining the League. Shaken by the day’s events, Nyssa and Sara reaffirm their presence to each other that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurance

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by an anon on Tumblr.

The sheets rustle as Nyssa climbs onto the bed.

She wraps her fingers tenderly around Sara’s wrist; pulls lightly on Sara’s hand and flips it over to trace the lines of its palm. “You almost died today,” she says.

Her lover looks stricken.

“I’m okay,” Sara whispers, “I’m right here.”

“Only by virtue of your quick reflexes.” Nyssa swallows back her impending tears. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

“You _won’t._ ”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, _habibti,_ ” Nyssa huffs derisively. “Our very way of being is life or death, and nothing you say will ever fool me into believing in an eternity together.”

Sara closes her mouth and twists her lips. Nyssa takes opportunity of the other’s silence to lift Sara’s wrist to her own lips—graze a kiss across the flutter of Sara’s pulse. There, barely tangible amidst the scent of clean soap, rests something so uniquely Sara that it _wracks_ her. She drops the arm and pulls Sara close and buries her face into the flesh of Sara’s shoulder, wanting the solidness of her lover’s body against hers.

“I’m okay,” Sara promises again. Nyssa feels the now-freed arm wrap around her waist, as delicate in its motion as if Nyssa were something fragile. “I’m okay.”

It tears Nyssa apart: That she is the one being reassured despite not being the one who came so very close to death. “I don’t know why I’m so upset,” she grits out with a small laugh. “It was a risk we both knew you would face upon your choosing to remain with the League. You must think me very mistrusting of your abilities.”

“I think it’s just that reality is sinking in,” Sara answers lightly. “I have the solution to that, though.”

Nyssa lifts her head to gaze enquiringly at Sara.

Sara guides her at her elbows; lays her down against the pillows at the head of the bed and lies down beside her, but then hooks an ankle around her calf and props up upon one arm to watch her.

“Ah,” Nyssa says. “I see.”

“Ever had ‘I Almost Died’ sex before?”

“No. I dare say you are well-aware of that fact.”

“Maybe,” Sara concedes. “Now’s as good a time as any to try it, right?”

Nyssa stares at Sara for a moment. The turn in events has bemused her; surely Sara should be too tired—or too scared—or too _something—_ to even think about intimacy. And yet…. “Isn’t it,” she asks reluctantly, “rather morbid?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sara answers, “but the adrenaline has to go _somewhere._ Why not sex, right?”

“Right,” Nyssa agrees doubtfully.

“We don’t have to,” Sara adds hurriedly. “We can just cuddle and go to bed.”

_Oh, Sara._

It’s mere fact, Nyssa thinks, that her desire for Sara runs as constantly as does her blood through her veins. It’s not the lack of want which stops her, but the consideration of propriety—propriety which, to be frank, Sara has never cared much for.

With a dip of her head, Nyssa relents. “I am amenable to the idea.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ or an ‘eh’?”

“It’s a ‘yes.’”

“Okay,” Sara says, giving her a chaste kiss. “Lemme know if you want to stop. But for now—care to close your eyes for me?”

“For what reason?” Nyssa asks warily.

“You’ll see,” Sara answers with a small grin, entangling her fingers with Nyssa’s. Nyssa complies, albeit with a residual frisson of nervousness in her heart; she isn’t expecting it, hence, when Sara untangles their fingers and undoes her robe and parts it—and then ghosts a gentle, gentle touch down her forearm.

“Riddle me this,” Sara says. Nyssa allows a quirk of her lips at the playfulness in the woman’s voice: Sara pokes fun of the formality of her dialect at times, yet never in a way which does not make her feel embraced.

“Riddle you what?”

“Has there been any part of your body that you have really wanted me to touch, but I haven’t?”

Nyssa frowns. It’s been a month or so since the establishment of their relationship; in that time, though opportunities have been sparse, Sara has—

The fingers that skim along the inside of Nyssa’s arm cause a rise in gooseflesh, and with a jolt, she realizes that Sara has perhaps not explored her body as thoroughly as she’d assumed.

“It has not occurred to me to wonder,” Nyssa answers honestly.

“Not even now?”

“Now— _oh._ ” She shifts a little at the fingers brushing up the side of her bared breast and continuing across her exposed collarbone. “Are you playing a game with me, Sara?”

Sara giggles. “Depends. Are you having fun?”

“I’m not bored.”

Sara’s laugh rings louder now. “Wow, I really have to up my game.”

“What is this game you play?”

Sharp teeth nip at her bottom lip, but Sara’s fingers never leave her body. “You can’t tell?”

Nyssa draws in a breath—shudders a little at strokes against her abdomen. “You’ve … never quite … tried to please me in this manner.”

“We could always try something new,” Sara answers mildly. “I have a whole list of ‘something new’s I always wanted to try.”

“Is that so?” Nyssa queries.

“Mm _hmm,_ ” Sara chirps. “Of course, if you’re not down for it…”

“If it’s you, _habibti—_ ”

“You are ‘amenable to the idea’?” Sara quips, and Nyssa’s laugh is delighted in more ways than one.

“Do with me now as you wish,” she tells Sara.

Sara purrs lowly and huskily. “With pleasure.”

The mattress dips; though Nyssa keeps her eyes closed, she can tell by the movement surrounding her and the warm weight upon her thighs that Sara now sits astride her.

“A little further up,” Nyssa grumbles, and Sara snorts.

“No way. I’m not gonna let you trib me into coming.”

“How crass!”

“And yet you enjoy it,” Sara retorts. The lips against the column of her throat catch her by surprise, and Nyssa inhales reflexively, catching the fragrance of Sara’s shampoo in the air. Sara moves southwards, kisses lined down Nyssa’s ribcage—in the valley between her breasts—upon her abdomen.

And then, Sara’s weight shifts again.

Fingers replace mouth, tickling a little as they stroke up Nyssa’s sides, under the robe and across her shoulders, and down her body again. The sensation is so light that it hardly constitutes touching, and yet Nyssa feels as if her body is _straining_ for more. She makes a noise of displeasure, but only receives an amused hum in reply.

It seems to go on forever.

And then, Sara says, “Sometimes, when I’m _allll_ alone at night, I think about touching you like this.”

“Do you,” Nyssa rasps.

“Mmhmm. You usually put up more of a fight,” Sara adds—Nyssa huffs—“But I lay you on your back … and run my fingers over your body … your hipbones … your abs…”—Nyssa’s breath catches at the fingernails that scratch her nipples lightly—“Yeah, and I think of ways to make you make that noise.”

“I make no noise,” Nyssa protests.

“Oh, but you do,” Sara disagrees, her fingers starting another circuit around Nyssa’s body. “You don’t make _loud_ noises, but you always gasp when I touch you here,”—an involuntary gasp is torn from Nyssa’s throat at the tingling at her groin—“Or run my fingers up your thighs,”—Nyssa clamps her lips together determinedly—“Or touch your clit.”

Wait expectantly Nyssa might, but Sara has halted in her movements.

“Well,” Nyssa grits out, “are you going to get there?”

“I don’t know,” Sara says, the smirk on her face evident even in her tone. “You have gone quiet. Aren’t you … having fun?”

“ _Sara._ ”

“You can get your kick out of ordering me around some other time,” Sara replies. “That’s not the sound I want to hear from you right now.”

Nyssa sighs. “Fine. I won’t hold back.”

“Excellent,” Sara proclaims, fingers dipping at long last through Nyssa’s lips. Nyssa’s eyes shoot open—her hips push into Sara’s hand a little. “Better?”

“Ye- _s._ ”

“Y’know, I feel like I haven’t teased you enough,” Sara continues conversationally, her smirk growing as her fingers slow. “I could have gone on for much longer if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted me.”

“Sara, don’t you—”

The rest of Nyssa’s command is lost to a groan of disappointment as Sara removes her fingers. Said fingers streak up her stomach again, causing Nyssa to shiver as the wetness that had clung to Sara’s fingers cools abruptly on her body—but Sara’s tongue accompanies the movement this time, and Nyssa breathes out harshly. She’s so warm now—so warm, and she’s tingling, and Sara’s tongue is warmer still … and Sara’s lapping at her breast again and again and again and outlining her collarbone and, _oh,_ and surely Sara can’t taste anything of her arousal, still? So, Nyssa lifts her hands from the bed and threads her fingers through Sara’s hair, tugging the other woman up for a kiss. Their pelvises align when Sara does so—Nyssa bucks desperately, and Sara pulls away from the kiss with a squeak.

“Oh, not yet,” Sara says, her voice a little unsteady for the first time. She closes her eyes and takes a fortifying breath; and Nyssa, never the one to waste an opportunity, grinds their hips again. Sara moves farther down her thighs. Nyssa whines a little, but sits up and wriggles them towards the foot of the bed.

There, seated somewhat precariously with Nyssa’s legs over the edge of the mattress and Sara’s wrapped around Nyssa’s lower body, they still. Sara, pink-cheeked and out of breath, chuckles. “I don’t remember telling you to flip the reins.”

“I haven’t,” Nyssa claims. “I merely … expedited the process.”

“‘Expedited’; I see.”

“Touch me now?” Nyssa proposes. Sara gives her a questioning look, so Nyssa moves her lover’s hand in between Nyssa’s own legs. “ _Touch_ me.”

Sara laughs roughly—and _touches_ Nyssa. With a relieved sigh, Nyssa tips her head forwards to lean against Sara’s shoulder. They’re quiet now, pretence of teasing lost to the simultaneous heat and closeness of the moment—all that remains are their hoarse pants and the slick, lewd sounds of Sara’s fingers against Nyssa.

All too soon, Nyssa feels the slip-slide of a building orgasm and begins to regret the way in which they’re positioned. It’s too late to move again without losing traction, so she tightens an arm around Sara’s body and leans her weight against the bed with the other. Sara, clearly sensing Nyssa’s predicament, pushes Nyssa prone once more and kneels over her thighs without breaking stride.

Of their own volition, Nyssa’s hips jerk upwards. Sara’s fingers slip into Nyssa, pulling a soft, desperate keen from Nyssa’s lips. Nyssa reaches blindly for a pillow—holds it to her chest and covers her mouth with it. A few more strokes inside her and taps to her clitoris and—

_Oh._

_Oh yes._

It burns—like molten waves pulsing through her. Above her, Sara touches her still, and Nyssa writhes, both seeking and escaping the touch. It’s too much; she lets herself be spun away into the abyss.

An eternity later, she calms enough for her body to stop shaking and for her hands to stop clawing into the sheets—and when she opens her eyes, Sara’s grinning rather smugly at her.

Nyssa scoffs, and Sara’s grin widens.

“So, how’s that for ‘I Survived’ sex?” Sara asks.

The reminder sobers Nyssa a little, but she reaches out for Sara and cradles the other woman close when Sara yields.

“Permit me to reassure myself once more?” Nyssa requests.

Her lover acquiesces.

* * *

Crossposted to: [Tumblr](http://anonymous033.tumblr.com/post/139656585327/reassurance-a-nysaranyssara-one-shot-nsfw)


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